


Better Than That

by beekeepercain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherly Love, Brothers, Gen, Peer Pressure, Protective Sam Winchester, Teenagers, Underage Smoking, Young Dean, Young Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 04:05:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10070681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beekeepercain/pseuds/beekeepercain
Summary: Jeanne is the prettiest girl Dean has ever seen.





	

* * *

  
Jeanne makes Dean’s insides twist in a funny way. She’s a year older and probably the prettiest girl he’s ever seen in the fourteen years he’s been alive. When she looks at him, he feels like the ground underneath him gives way and makes him sink into something unsteady but soft. So the thought of refusing really doesn’t cross his mind when she takes the cigarette off her lips, grins playfully at him and offers it towards him. In the back of his mind, he feels three kinds of uncomfortable - iffy, scared, and just afraid to fail in front of her - but he takes it between his fingers just like she holds it, and he brings it to his lips.

It’s probably the worst thing he’s ever tasted. The smoke filters into his mouth and seems to coat his cheeks and tongue with something he really doesn’t want inside him, and when he tries to drag a breath, his throat closes up and he chokes: he takes the cigarette off his lips, coughing, and gives it back to Jeanne. Jeanne’s laughing; he’s not sure what she says, but it sounds like she just called him “cute”. From her, he can take that.

And still, his cheeks burn up with embarrasment and discomfort. It feels like clearing his airways takes the whole evening.

He walks back to the motel and slips in almost soundlessly. Sam’s there, sitting on the bed with his school books scattered on the bed, but he’s not doing his homework anymore, just watching the TV with the leftover bag of chips on his lap from the night before. By then, Dean just feels guilty and weird about the whole thing - it seems less like an indirect kiss and more like something he didn’t want to do, but somehow ended up doing anyway, as if the cigarette violated him somehow despite the fact that he accepted it without a question. The taste still lingers in his mouth and he can’t get it out.

“Where’ve you been?” Sam asks him, crossing his legs more firmly underneath him. Swaying as he adjusts, one hand in the bag of chips.

“Nowhere.”

“Dad told you to be back before eight every day.”

“It’s only ten past eight, and it’s not like you’ve died or anything while I was out.”

Dean drinks some water, but the water tastes like ash, too. At this point, he’s not entirely sure if it’s all in his head, or if he’s really stuck with the taste forever. Shuddering, he sits on his bed and clears up his throat.

“Did you hang out with that girl again?” Sam asks after a little while, his eyes glued to the TV even though Dean knows he’s not really watching it.

“Maybe.”

“I don’t like her. She’s rude and weird.”

“Well, you don’t know anything about girls anyway, so why should I listen to you?” Dean snaps and watches a certain heat grow over Sam’s cheeks.

The younger digs into the bag of chips and eats angrily.

“I don’t think she respects you,” he says then in a very confident voice.  
Their eyes meet, and Dean can’t help but lifting his brows.

“Huh?”

“She treats you like you’re her toy or something. Like she owns you. I don’t like that.”

“She doesn’t treat me like that,” Dean grunts, but now his own cheeks are feeling sort of hot.  
He knows she does. And he lets her, because she’s beautiful and doesn’t take shit from anyone.

“She’ll make you do something you don’t want to do if you keep letting her get away with it.”

“Why’s this any of your business, ugly?”

Sam rolls his eyes and eats another chip.  
“You’re better than that,” he says simply, his gaze turning back for the TV.

Dean wants to say something rude to him, but he doesn’t really have an argument. Truth be told, the words kind of feel nice; especially after a night of hanging out with a group of older students who really don’t take him for their equal. Letting out a long breath, he looks down at his lap for a moment before reaching across the gap between their beds and grabbing Sam’s bag of chips. Sam’s hand slides off of it as Dean pulls it away, and there’s no resistance; Dean shoves a fistful of chips in his mouth and swallows thickly.

“She… gave me her cigarette today,” he finds himself saying then, and his voice isn’t boastful or challenging, just a little uncertain.

Sam looks at him again, and his dumb round baby features look all open and honest when he examines his brother for a moment in silence.  
“Did you take it?” he asks then, his features turning for a slight frown.

Dean growls.  
“I did. Of course I did. Do you think I’m a baby or something?”

“Why would you do that?” Sam asks, ignoring his question, “You hate smoking. You hate the smell and everything.”

For a moment, there’s silence. Dean eats another chip and throws the bag back at Sam; Sam catches it reliably as always from mid-air.

“I do,” he says then, slowly; “I… don’t know why I did. I didn’t like it. It was pretty awful, really, I just - I saw her offering it and I didn’t think. I just did. I don’t know, it was pretty stupid.”

Another silence lingers between them while Sam keeps watching Dean and Dean keeps avoiding his eyes. Then he shifts uncomfortably and pulls off his shirt; he throws it on his bag sitting next to his bed and then keeps staring at it instead.

“We’re leaving in a few days, anyway,” he says to the bag and his discarded shirt, “It doesn’t matter what I do or don’t do. I just - want her to like me.”

“Is that really so important?”

“You’ll understand when you get older.”

“No, I don’t think I will. She won’t like you any better for smoking her cigarette, she probably just made fun of you. She’s gross, Dean, I’m serious.”

Finally, Dean turns his eyes back to Sam. He won’t admit it, but somehow, hearing this from Sam makes him feel better about the whole thing. He lets a small smile cross his lips when he hops off the bed and takes off his pants, too; he swaps them for his pajama pants and climbs next to Sam.

“Wanna watch a movie?” he asks breathlessly, and Sam sighs, moving aside his school books and pens.

“Sure.”


End file.
